


To make hymns of hips

by leaveanote



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blasphemy kink, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex, Smut, Supportive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: “A new kind of worship...ours, ours, ours alone. Because, Crowley...I believe in us. Because of you. More than anything in the universe, I believe in us.”Aziraphale had been thinking of the sex they’d been having as a profoundly human thing, one of the many earthly delights they indulged in together. He had never really wanted to approach the irrefutable fact that they were an angel and a demon, joined by choice and desire. Until one evening, Crowley climbs into his lap, brushes his lips against his ear, and whispers: “Would you make love to me?”blending profane and holy, top!Aziraphale worshipping his demon. sex and intimacy and so much love.





	To make hymns of hips

Aziraphale had been thinking of the sex they’d been having as a profoundly human thing, one of the many earthly delights they indulged in together. He loves fucking Crowley. Loves the arc of his back, the way he can get the demon to dig his long fingers into the sheets or Aziraphale’s thigh, making him come, coming inside him. He had never really wanted to approach the irrefutable fact that, whatever degree of fallen he had become since defying Heaven and whatever grace Crowley might have reclaimed since defying Hell, they were an angel and a demon, joined by choice and desire.

Until one evening, Crowley climbs into his lap, brushes his lips (those lips) against his ear, and whispers:

“Would you make love to me?”

Aziraphale’s mouth goes dry. 

“What?”

They had told each other they loved each other, time and time again since they saved the world, and Crowley could hardly go a day without saying it now that he was allowed to. This had been a separate thing, though, thus far, to the fucking, which had been going on, utterly unspoken about otherwise, since the 17th century. To think about it in this way, to cross that line — Aziraphale hadn’t considered it. Of course their sex came out of love, and it always had, but Crowley is asking him to really mean it, and as an angel, an act of love like this...with a demon...

Crowley knows what he’s asking, the magnitude of it. In the moments Aziraphale considers all this, his heart thudding in his chest, Crowley pulls back, visibly embarrassed.

“I mean. Fuck me, that is.” The demon cracks a smile, tries to take it back, goes to push up between Aziraphale’s legs, but Aziraphale holds him back.

“That’s not what you meant,” he says softly. A thrill is running through him, a charge, and he recognizes, vaguely, that he hasn’t felt it since the last time he was worshipped, many years ago, when he gave away his sword. 

“I just thought — I — never mind,” Crowley groans, slumping and burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale holds him. The familiar weight of the demon a comfort, an entire revolution on his lap. Aziraphale lets his hands travel up and down the curve of Crowley’s back, feeling the space where his wings lie dormant. 

Crowley has always wanted this, Aziraphale realizes, the truth coming to him like something that’s always been just out of reach, always there if only he’d reach for it. He’s always wanted all of it, the two of them, joined in both human ways and ethereal, profound ways that only they two could share. He’s wanted everything from Aziraphale, and he’s been waiting for so long, never overreaching, never pushing, only waiting, only ever there, taking anything and everything he was given.

“I’ve been so cruel to you,” Aziraphale realizes, his voice low with horror. How could he just — been fucking — when Crowley wants so much more, has never hidden that want?

Crowley pulls back, his face a wreck.

“Never,” he says, hoarse but automatic.

“That’s not true,” Aziraphale says, shaking now. “I’ve been so selfish, taking all this time to figure out what we are to each other...and you’ve been...waiting...”

Crowley’s beautiful mouth has fallen open, his unhidden eyes bright and gold and earnest and  _ hopeful _ .

“Angel...”

“I’m here, Crowley,” Aziraphale says firmly. Decisively. “I’m with you, and I love you. More than in the ways I’m built to. I am in love with you. All of you. All the strange human bits and the demon that you are.” He feels a light buzzing in his mouth as he says this, as he proclaims as an angel that he is in love with a demon, but it doesn’t hurt. It makes him feel alive. 

“I love you,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale can hear the static crackle behind his words and he understands: Crowley loves him in ways demons aren’t supposed to be capable of. They look at each other, into each other, and smile, and the space between them is so charged, alive with something not holy, not hellish, not human, but  _ theirs _ , and then Aziraphale closes it, kissing Crowley all over, his mouth, his cheeks, his throat, his forehead: an atonement, an awakening, a new kind of blessing, one that is theirs alone. 

Crowley draws his breath in sharp, hardly able to believe it.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale says between kisses. “I’m here, I love you, and I’m here and I’m sorry and I’m  _ yours...” _

Crowley moans, seizes the angel’s face in his hands and kisses him firm on the mouth. Aziraphale threads his fingers into Crowley’s hair and kisses him back deeply, bending him backwards into a swoon. Without breaking the kiss, he pulls Crowley’s arms around his shoulders. He moves his own his hands down, reaches beneath Crowley’s thighs and lifts him, carrying him through the flat, Crowley’s legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He only breaks away to lay the demon carefully on the bed. 

“You were made for worship, once,” Aziraphale murmurs against the hollows of Crowley’s throat. His lover flinches. 

“That was a long time ago,” he croaks, but Aziraphale’s shaking his head.

“I am going to remake you. Like you’ve remade me. A new kind of worship...ours, ours, ours alone. Because I do, Crowley...” he looks down, his eyes shining. “I believe in us. Because of you. More than anything in the universe, I believe in us.” 

Crowley stares at him, hard, for one breathless moment, before ripping off his shirt. 

Aziraphale loosens his tie and undoes his own buttons, Crowley’s hands joining his and together they fumble him bare. Each in just trousers, Aziraphale places his hand on Crowley’s chest and pushes him back into the pillows. He feels the heart beating there, such a peculiar vestige, a choice they both made, and he loves it because it reminds him of how mortal they aren’t, of the vessels they’ve both, and they both alone, have chosen to inhabit, and also because he loves how, with a well-placed breath, he can make Crowley’s quicken. He bends low, opens his mouth, drags his tongue along that sharp jawline, drinks in the ragged breath it draws from Crowley’s throat. They’ve always moved fast, even when they take it slow, when they fuck for ceaseless days on end, it’s always a means to an end and an end and an end, but this time, this time Aziraphale is finally focused on the present. He knows Crowley can feel this, the deliberation in his movements, the slow surety with which he brings his lips to the demon’s chest, taking a nipple in his teeth and biting, slowly, just hard enough to feel Crowley harden beneath the press of his thigh, and when he releases the grip of his teeth, swipes the tip of his tongue along the pert, reddened flesh, Crowley’s hands go to grip the bedsheets but Aziraphale grabs one instead. 

“Mine,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of Crowley’s wrist, and Crowley lets out a low growl in response. He seizes Aziraphale’s hair, tugs him up into a searing kiss, and speaks into his mouth:

“And  _ mine _ .”

Aziraphale nods fervently, this is important.

“Yes. Yours.”

“Ours.” 

Aziraphale moves to Crowley’s stomach, humming against the cage of his ribs, their fingers still entwined. He buries his face in the soft down above the demon’s waistband before bringing his mouth lower, to breathe hot above the growing bulge.

“I am doing this to you,” and he feels himself hardening in response, “with you,” he corrects. He draws his teeth very gently across the clothed erection and Crowley tightens his grip on his hand. At last, he pulls his hand away to tug both trousers and pants off, Crowley wiggling infuriatingly adorably out of them, eager and bare and raw and wanting, and, “I want to give you everything,” Aziraphale realizes. He says it again, proclaiming it, making desire into Word, into something more than humans can give, and Crowley shivers as his power fills the room. 

“Please,” whispers the demon, parting his legs, and this brazen display of want is too much. With a gasp, Aziraphale kneels between Crowley’s thighs and takes him into his mouth,  _ like communion,  _ he thinks wildly, and he’s surprised at himself at what a filthy, blasphemous thought that is, but oh, the sound Crowley makes when he hollows his cheeks just so, pushes his tongue like this, sends a thrill of love through him so pure it can’t be evil, it can only be a beautiful thing, to bring your love joy like this. 

Aziraphale  _ focuses  _ like never before, not on the very human act that they’ve done a hundred times but on Crowley, and the shimmering space between them. On Crowley’s bitten off breath and how it travels through his slender, writhing stomach, on how and when and how deep he bucks his hips up into the angel’s mouth, on the wet wanting crevices of his body.

The salt of it, the weight of it, the dark miracle that is this body, infernal demon trapped in the flesh, and Aziraphale takes it in, revels in the taste, how he can make it harder still with just his mouth. It’s sacred because it’s shared, and it’s so much more than that. 

They make something new, together.

Aziraphale removes his mouth slowly, reveling in the drawn out whine Crowley gives at its absence.

“Turn over,” he says, his voice a rough low thing. Aziraphale laps his tongue against Crowley’s balls, toying with them, before moving his mouth lower. “If you want me to.” He hears Crowley’s breath catch, then escape him in a hiss. The demon loops his leg over Aziraphale’s head and turns over. He clutches the pillow. Aziraphale watches his serpentine spine shift beneath his skin as he adjusts himself, rutting his wet cock against the sheets, parting his thighs. 

_ Letting me in. _

Aziraphale spreads Crowley’s cheeks and lets himself takes in the sight for just one glorious moment before he kneels in supplication, flicks out his tongue, and gives and gives and gives.

He’s always loved this, but now he lets himself feel not just how good it feels to get Crowley wet for him, to let his sacred mouth pleasure a demon in this human way, but the act of giving itself, of joining, like this, of the many places their bodies are touching and the many places there are to touch. He tastes the hot wet tightness, moans into it, lets his tongue probe and push and caress and  _ explore _ , and he delights at reading Crowley’s sounds, now, at listening and learning to not just what gets his lover close to climax, but what feels  _ good _ , what teases him and builds pleasure in him. He licks lewd circles, he pushes his tongue as far in as he can and he  _ curls  _ it, he loves the feeling of the cheeks of Crowley’s ass pressed against his face, the building rhythm as the demon rocks himself against Aziraphale’s mouth and the bed. And before Aziraphale makes himself pull away, he licks the sign of the cross, again and again.

At last, Aziraphale draws back, ready to enter him, but Crowley rolls over and pulls his wet mouth up into a kiss. Aziraphale knows he tastes himself there, that this is a new, shared thing. Crowley wants to kiss, he wants to give it to him. Aziraphale lets himself be leaned back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around the demon. Crowley kisses him with fresh hunger, twining their bodies together.

“I love you,” Aziraphale gasps, his own erection throbbing now at the press of Crowley’s on him. “I love you, I love you with all of me, the holiest -- and the profane -- ”

“I love  _ you _ , angel,” murmurs Crowley, and shifts. Aziraphale realizes what he’s doing the moment before he goes to do it, and catches him, clings to him harder.

“I -- I want this to be all about you,” he insists, “about us, not about me, but about us…”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale can feel the love pulsing through him, earnest and pure. “This is.” And Aziraphale lets him crouch beneath his own knees, remove his clothes, and take him in his mouth.

“Ohh,” he moans, rocking into it. Crowley hums around his cock, moving sensuously, torturously slow. “Yes,  _ yes _ , take me, you have me, you have me, I’m yours…” Crowley’s long fingers go to stroke his balls, the demon’s tongue wide and strong against his shaft, and Aziraphale begins to unravel. Crowley’s throat opens for him, their bodies swaying together, melting heat joining them, until Aziraphale can _ not _ take it anymore.

“Come here, please…”

And Crowley looks up, sweaty hair falling in his eyes, and pulls away with a soft sound. He looks Aziraphale directly in the eye as he presses his lips to the head of the angel’s cock and places a gentle kiss there. Aziraphale moans, and he catches Crowley smirk as he falling back into the pillows. 

Crowley makes his way into Aziraphale’s arms and Aziraphale kisses him and kisses him, swollen lips and salt and each other.

“Would you make love to me?” Crowley asks again, his voice hoarse but he’s grinning, now, and Aziraphale gently bites that bottom lip and says, with a grin of his own,

“So be it…”

Aziraphale reaches for the half-used-up tube of lubricant as Crowley slides onto his stomach and spreads his thighs. He spreads it liberally on his fingers before leaning forward, letting his mouth trace the demon’s shoulderblades, the nape of his neck, and inhales deeply, breathing in Crowley’s scent, sweat and heat and sweetness, and he covers Crowley’s body with his so he can feel it tense as he presses his fingers inside. 

He shifts gently, carefully, letting Crowley stretch and adjust. 

“I love feeling you around me,” he says truthfully, and Crowley tightens, moaning. He lets his fingers push deeper, two and then three, not searching for the spot he’d usually aim for, just opening, feeling, listening. Watching Crowley’s fist clench and unclench, listening for the catch and release of breath. 

“I love when you’re inside me,” Crowley hisses, and Aziraphale can feel the truth of this too. Knees pushing out, wrinkling the bedsheets. Slow shift moves to steady rocking, grinding back on eager fingers while Crowley ruts his erection against the bed. Another night, Crowley would reach for himself and Aziraphale would let him, but tonight, they’re both focused on the places where they can touch.

“Now, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispers, “please,  _ please… _ ” and then in his hoarse voice, trembling with arousal, he beseeches. “Aziraphale, guardian mine, ever now and ever this day, bestow -- bestow upon me your gifts…”

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. Words stolen from the prayer for a guardian angel. 

“I didn’t think I still knew the words,” Crowley pants, flashing a look over his shoulder. “But...when it’s  _ you… _ ”

_ I believe in us too.  _

Aziraphale bends to kiss him again, and then straddles him, positions himself, and enters.

He moves slow, and they exhale together as he does it, each of them feeling every inch. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Aziraphale murmurs as begins to move. Crowley rolls his body up against him, taking him deeper, and Aziraphale does something he’s never done before -- he lets his wings open, plants them into the floor, and lets them propel him even harder, more controlled. Crowley groans, the shadow of his own wings shimmering out, fluttering as Aziraphale thrusts into him, but he refuses to let them manifest entirely, preferring to keep Aziraphale close.

By rights, this should burn them both. This shouldn’t be possible, something so sacred, so profane, simultaneous, but that’s always what they’ve been, floating somewhere in the middle. 

Aziraphale watches Crowley writhe beneath him, giving into it, and Aziraphale begins to pray. “ _ Oh, Crowley, Crowley, hallowed be thy name _ …”

“Thy will be done…”

“My love,” Aziraphale says, his breath quickening. He reaches for as much of Crowley as he can as they thrust against each other, into each other, tangling his fingers in apple-red hair, pressing his palms into the base of wings and spine.

“My --  _ oh _ \-- love…” Crowley says, his voice a lovely abandon of effort and desire, and Aziraphale smiles, letting himself lean into the movement, taking it all in.

“I worship you, I worship this, us, who we are, what we make together.”

“To light and guard me…”

“Together. I for you and you -- you for I…”

Crowley’s bucking against him now, a slap of thighs and a keening, breathy moan, sheets clenched in fists.

“You want me to fuck you there, my love?” Aziraphale asks.

“ _ Please… _ ”

“Please?”

Crowley flings his head back, pushes back even harder.

“Please, please...come inside me…”

Aziraphale swallows, feels himself hardening even still, and Crowley groans at it. He loves every way they fuck, but he does very much love watching himself enter Crowley like this, obscene and wondrous at once.

“Fill me up,” Crowley continues, “bestow -- bestow unto me your gifts…”

Aziraphale is positively thrumming with it now, old, ancient power blending with human act and the fierce, delicious purgatory they’ve carved out for each other. He takes Crowley’s hips in his hands and adjusts, and he finds that spot when Crowley gasps for it, lets the demon thrust back on him and reaches his hand between Crowley’s legs, pressing his chest to Crowley’s back and taking him in his fist and stroking him and stroking him.

“I vow to protect and be protected,” Aziraphale murmurs, into sweat and flesh, letting the words come as the heat pools low in him. “To write rhythms on your ribs, make hymns of hips and psalms of moans, to rewrite scripture inside you, in the way I shift you, in the way you move me.” They roll their bodies together, together.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley murmurs, his voice sibilant, undulating, a holy name in an unholy mouth, turning it into something... _ else _ . 

“Let this be a new sacrament.” Aziraphale is getting close now, he can’t hold on much longer. He tightens his grip on his lover’s cock and Crowley pushes hard against him. “One that’s ours and ours alone, one that’s not a moment, an evening, but -- but  _ neverending _ .” The words spill from him, as vulnerable and intimate a want as the mounting pressure between his legs, if not more so, and Crowley’s pace quickens desperately, and the angel holds him firm, and then Aziraphale  _ comes _ , hot and deep inside Crowley, and Crowley lets out a cry and thrusts and thrusts -- 

“Ours and ours alone,” he pleads, “ours and ours alone, ours and --  _ oh! _ ” 

Aziraphale feels Crowley clench around him just at the peak of his own orgasm and he gasps and thrusts into it, feeling Crowley tight around him as he fills him, wet and spilling and  _ theirs _ . 

When Aziraphale can finally get his trembling limbs to cooperate, he pulls out gently and tucks his wings away. He gathers Crowley into his arms, covering his face in so many kisses, Crowley’s dazed, fucked-out expression quickly turns to a smile.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.” Aziraphale kisses him again, squeezing him tight.

Crowley curls up against his chest, nuzzling close.

“Well, that was wonderful,” says the demon.

“Yeah?” Aziraphale asks anxiously.

“ _ Yes. _ ” Crowley grins up at him. “You know, you don’t have to be so worried. I do know you love me.”

“Well, you didn’t for a very long time. Because I didn’t know it.” Aziraphale sighs. “Or, I didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Crowley says, the smile slipping from his face. “But you do now, and I…” he gulps. “I’m still getting used to how good it feels.”

“And I’m still trying to figure out how to do it  _ right _ .” Aziraphale lets Crowley slip a leg between his, holds him close, but stares straight into those beautiful eyes. “I want to learn all the ways I can make you feel as loved as you are. Not -- not just in bed, but in everything, everything we do.”

“Angel…”

“Because that is how you have always made me feel. I just didn’t realize it until far too recently.”

Crowley’s mouth has dropped open again, and Aziraphale kisses it.

“How the Heav- how the -- how on  _ Earth _ did I get this lucky?” Crowley mumbles into the angel’s mouth.

“I am going to ask myself that every damned day, my love.”

“Ever this day,” Crowley recites, kissing the angel’s chest, “to light and guard, to be by my side…”

“And, on occasion, fuck the hell out of you?”

“Aziraphale! ” 

Aziraphale flashes a grin, a cheeky one, before letting it shift into something more tender. He caresses Crowley’s shoulder, presses their bodies together.

“I’m so glad I get to learn all the ways there are to love you best, my darling.” 

Crowley gazes up at him.

“I can’t believe how good this feels,” he says quietly. He takes it all in, the angel holding him, loving him, meeting him somehow halfway. The answer to a prayer he’d never let himself voice. 

“A new kind of worship,” Aziraphale whispers.

“Ours.”

“Ours.”

“Amen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! <3 Hope you liked it! Check out my other fics -- I write both G-rated fluff and E-rated smut but you can bet both will have lots of kisses.
> 
> you can request fics & talk to me about ineffable kisses on tumblr at letmetemptyou <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] To make hymns of hips](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201023) by [Gorillazgal86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86)




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